


The Mirror Room

by Azzandra



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Solas/F!Trevelyan stories. Each chapter is a different alternate universe setting, because I like AUs basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Western AU

You could always tell a Templar by their spurs: wicked sharp things, nasty stuff to do to some poor animal.

Then again, considering what they did to people, Pippa supposed getting wound up over a pair of spurs was laughable in comparison. Still, she eyed this fellow right away. He was new to town, handsome and fair, curly-haired. He had his hat pulled low over his face, shading his eyes from the noon glare.

Pippa was sitting in her usual chair by the saloon door, balancing it on two legs as her feet were propped against the hitching post. She was in the middle of rolling herself up a cigarette, and she didn’t move her feet as the stranger came over to tie his horse, but he didn’t say anything, only moved a bit to the side.

She stopped him just as he was about to push through the door.

“If you’re here to drag some poor soul back to the magehouses,” she said, pausing to swipe her tongue across the cigarette paper, “you should know Sheriff Pentaghast might not take a shine to that idea.”

The man paused, a look of dull surprise across his face.

“Actually,” he said, “Sheriff Pentaghast is the one I’m here to see,” he said. “Do you know where I could find her?”

“Interesting,” Pippa muttered to herself, then pointedly took out her cigarette lighter and made a show of using it. “Fereldan?”

“From Honnleath,” the stranger confirmed. “And you? Free Marcher?”

“Ostwick, me,” she said. “Mighty far away from home, aren’t we?”

“As I understand it, only the most eclectic end up in the Western Approach. Do you know where Sheriff Pentaghast is, or not?” There was a twinge of irritation in his voice now.

Pippa took a deep drag of her cigarette, and exhaled slowly.

“Sheriff’s office, I reckon,” she replied, grinning at him.

He stared at her for a few seconds more, then sighed and went inside the saloon.

No, Pippa knew damn well Cassandra wasn’t at the sheriff’s office at this time of day. Likely she was hashing out grazing disputes between belligerent cattle farmers again, or whatever irritating petty errands she was saddled with in between the more life-and-death stuff.

But Pippa wasn’t inclined to help a Templar. After the magehouses rose up, a lot of them went the same way, turning bounty hunters or bandits or whatever shade of murderous and unlawful gave them the means to hunt down and kill mages. The way she saw it, either he was still an officer of the law, which spelled trouble for any mages he came across, or he was not, which often spelled double trouble for mages and everyone caught in the radius.

She was going to have to send around a discreet word around Haven to all her friends of arcane inclination. At least the ones that were willing to keep their heads down, Pippa thought with a sigh. Dorian was going to be an ass about it, she was sure. She wasn't looking forward to that conversation.

 

* * *

 

The saloon was dark, especially compared to the bright Western Approach day, so Cullen paused as he walked in, blinking until his eyes adjusted. 

He made his way to the bar, where a sad-looking young man with hair hanging in front of his eyes stood.

"Head pounding, pressing, praying it away won't help," the young man said in a shaky fugue, just as Cullen sat down. "The song is fading, and the silence hurts."

Cullen froze, a chill running down his back. His hand itched, and he almost reached for his Company-issued revolver. _Mage_ , his mind whispered. _Dangerous_. The young man looked at him then, blue eyes piercing.

"You can't run away from it, but being here will help," he told Cullen in a matter a fact voice.

"Who are--" But before Cullen could utter the question, the young man disappeared.

Cullen frowned, wondering who he'd been talking to just then. There didn't seem to be anyone around. 

At least not until the door burst open and a dwarf bustled out.

"Sorry, just got new inventory in," the dwarf apologized. "Cabot's the name. Can't say I've ever seen you around town."

"Cullen," he introduced himself. "I'm new. I came looking for Cassandra Pentaghast."

Cabot's eyebrows rose.

"Huh. Usually people at least order a drink before they start working me over for gossip," Cabot groused, and took out a rag to wipe the counter. It was immaculate, but it just gave him something to do while looking put out.

"Oh, s-sorry, I--" Cullen cleared his throat. "A ginger ale, please."

Cabot grunted and produced a bottle from under the bar. He popped off the cap and pushed it towards Cullen.

"The sheriff should be back at her office by evening," Cabot told him. "You're free to wait here until then."

The unspoken message being, of course, as long as he was a _paying_ customer. Cullen sighed, but he could hardly argue. He had no other place to be at the moment.

 

* * *

 

Dorian, as always, lit up as Pippa walked through the door of his book shop, but that didn't mean he forgot to give the ragged old blanket she wore as a garment a disdainful sniff.

He was seated in his armchair, surrounded by stacks of volumes and holding a half-empty glass in one hand. Rarely did Pippa walk through the door and not find him in this position. Often the shelves would be empty as Dorian built taller and taller monuments around his chair. Pippa suspected it was a good thing his business model relied more on selling curios and rare items to private collectors. While the books were ostensibly for sale, she'd rarely seen Dorian part with one.

"This must be quite the occasion," he said. "You don't usually start reading any earlier in the day than some people start drinking."

"Obviously you aren't 'some people'," she said, plucking the glass from his hand and sniffing at it. The fumes alone made her feel a bit dizzy. She raised an eyebrow at Dorian.

"Yes, yes, I am a degenerate drunk," he said, rolling his eyes. "Are you here to pass judgment on my fine taste, or was there anything else?"

"There's a Templar in town," Pippa informed him dryly.

"Well, I suppose gossip must be slow today." Dorian looked back down at his book, flipping a page.

"I'm serious, Dorian."

"Did he flash his badge?"

"He didn't have to, I can tell these things." Pippa leaned back against a table laden with strange fossils from the desert and pieces of old magical shards. "You should clean this place up, if he's really a Company man, he'd probably burst into self-righteousness the moment he walked through the door."

"I will keeping everything as is, if you don't mind," Dorian replied. "I am not a man to be bullied by your southern thugs."

"You're also not a man in his daddy's homeland," Pippa replied. "It will be twice as humiliating for you if you underestimate this particular thug and it ends up blowing in your face. After all the times you mocked us southern barbarians for letting ourselves be chucked into dismal little mage prisons, I don't think your ego will stand up very well to being dragged away to one kicking and screaming. Alright?"

Dorian looked profoundly unhappy, but he sighed.

"For your peace of mind," he said, " _and for your peace of mind alone_ , I will not do anything that will draw undue attention to myself."

"Thank you."

"But I will not hide like a mouse in my hole, either," he said firmly.

"I know," Pippa grinned, and then, impulsively, stepped close to his chair and took his head in her hands to plant a kiss on the top of his head.

He waved her off, annoyed, but there was fondness behind the gesture.

"Mussing my hair is not part of the deal!" he said.

Pippa laughed as she left. The sound was only drowned out by the loud bell above the book shop door.

 

* * *

 

Pippa stopped by Vivienne's hat shop next, where she left word with the shop assistant, and then she let Fiona know as well. Fiona, at least, promised to send word along.

That left Solas, who was at the temple up at the oasis. If things were going well for him, then it would be at least a few days before his supplies ran out and he would have to return to town regardless of the state of his research. 

But something in the air made Pippa anxious. It wasn't just the Templar. It was other people passing through, it was Cassandra being busier than usual.

She would just check in with Solas, a quick ride to the oasis and back. She'd be back by sunset.

 

* * *

 

Things were not going well for Solas.

For once, the disruption to his research did not come in the form of wildlife, giant spiders, or former miners turned scavengers. Rather inconveniently, it came at the hands of  suspiciously well-armed humans. These were not wandering bandits or smugglers. They were organized, and they seemed to be here for a specific reason.

At the very least they were not Templars, Solas supposed, but that thought was cold comfort as he made his way up and down ladders, hiding in alcoves and dodging behind shrubbery to hide himself.

One or two, a handful, a dozen he could handle. But there were at least thirty that he'd spotted, with more trickling in over the course of the day, and he couldn't take them all. 

He also couldn't hide indefinitely. He had lost his pack in his dash from the cavern the other day, and though water was in ample supply around the oasis, if he spent any length of time stealing food, he would eventually be caught.

Returning to town was also an option not readily available to him. They'd found his horse and appropriated it for themselves, and Solas was not quite desperate enough to hazard the desert crossing on foot yet.

Left with such vanishingly few options, Solas observed.

The strangers spoke Tevene, which Solas happened to be fluent in, and repeatedly referenced the name Servis, who by the litany of complaints against him Solas took as being their overseer, if not in charge of their entire organization. And Solas understood, by eavesdropping, that they were in the oasis to plumb the temple for Elvhen artifacts.

That did not sit well with Solas at all, but there was little he could do about it until he figured out what the strangers intended.

For this purpose, he was at the very edge of the oasis, watching two of the interlopers arguing as the third consulted a map. They had arrived only recently, with a horsecart filled with supplies. The horse itself was now tied to a sad, sparse tree on the edge of the campsite, enjoying the piddling shade and a bucket of water. It was probably hungry, as well, by the way it was nosing at the tree's bark, but its owners were ignoring it.

They had erected a type of pole on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the oasis canyon. Something was meant to be mounted on top of it, probably, though Solas could not yet figure out what.

He listened carefully, hidden behind a rocky outcrop, but he only picked up stray words. Something about the temple, certainly. Also about triangulation, which made Solas suspect they were looking for something in particular. And a word not in Tevene--Tranquil. 

Solas was confused until he noticed, in the shade of the strangers' cart, a slumped-over body, tied up and still. And then a sneaking, horrific suspicion dawned on him.

He was so tense, that when a hand fell to his shoulder, he nearly shouted. Magic flared around his fingers, but before he released a barrage of projectiles, he was hit with a dispell. He turned around as well as his crouch allowed, but before he could throw another spell, he realized he was not being assaulted.

"Sorry, I forget how sneaky I am," Pippa whispered. She grinned, completely unaffected by the fact that he'd nearly sent a lightning bolt to her face.

Surprisingly, she'd walked up right behind him and crouched down next to him without Solas noticing a thing. True, he'd been a bit absorbed at the time, but he did not become aware of her until the moment she wished it. Smuggling mages through the wilderness had apparently given Pippa quite the skillset.

"In truth, I couldn't be more grateful to see you," he said, and settled back into position. "I seem to be in a bit of a bind at the moment. I have lost both my horse and my supplies."

"Good thing I arrived before you lost your breeches, too. So they're bad news, I take it?" Pippa asked, glancing over the rock. "I thought they might be. Fortunately I didn't ask any of them about your whereabouts, I just looked for your footprints."

"Out of so many footsteps, how could you possibly guess which ones were mine?" he asked.

Pippa grinned.

"Out of so many footsteps, only one pair had _toes_."

Solas looked down at his feet, but the sand slipped around his toes, and it didn't look like they made any impression. He looked behind him, but he noticed that the footprints had been erased. Pippa's precaution, probably, since he hadn't bothered. There were so many tracks since the strangers arrived, that his own were easily lost.

"The ones on rocky bits, where it's dusty instead of sandy," she clarified. "I figured the ones they led to on the sand were still yours. Anyway, mind filling me in? What are these shifty fellows over there up to?"

"I believe they are planning a blood sacrifice," he said.

"Huh. Neighborhood's really going downhill."

"They are Tevinters."

"Oh, well, that explains it."

"They have a Tranquil I believe they intend for this task."

"And what exactly would that accomplish?"

"It has something to do with finding a way into the temple, I believe. It is called Solasan."

Pippa blinked in surprise.

"Didn't know you had a temple in your honor, Solas!" she said, slanting a grin his way.

"In fact, I have several," he replied dryly. "But if we may return to the issue at hand, I do not believe these people are mere grave robbers."

Pippa agreed. "Not nearly enough shovels, and too many guns. Even if they're expecting undead, it would be, hah, overkill."

Solas made a non-committal sound as he thought. He wasn't certain what to do. Leaving was now an option, assuming Pippa had a mount hidden somewhere. But leaving would also mean a certain ignorance about the goings-on in the oasis that Solas was not completely comfortable with.

The two who had been arguing stopped for the moment, and one of them went to retrieve something from the cart. He presented it to the other, and appeared to be explaining something. Pippa and Solas watched tensely, and when one of the strangers shifted out of the way, they got a clear view of what it was. A skull.

"What are they doing with that?" Pippa wondered out loud.

In fact, what they did was mount it on the pole they had erected earlier. It was not a task that took very long, and once done, the third stranger, the one with the map, came up to the skull and appeared to... peer through it.

Pippa looked at Solas, when her own expertise in magic failed her.

"What are they seeing through that thing?" she asked. 

Solas was not completely certain, though he had his suspicions. After using the strange skull contraption, the person with the map began marking things down. Locations. 

There was only one thing in this oasis Solas could imagine being valuable enough to search for in such a manner.

Pippa tugged on Solas's sleeve, and he shifted his gaze back to the two who had been arguing earlier. 

They'd dragged up and knelt the Tranquil a little ways away from their makeshift camp, on the other side of the cart. The Tranquil went along, placid even after the gag and rope around his feet had been removed.

One of the strangers took out a rifle from the cart and walked behind the Tranquil.

Solas could hear Pippa's sharp inhale, before she reached for the rifle on her own back.

"Let us not do anything hasty," Solas entreated, but Pippa's rifle was already cocked and she was taking aim.

"They're going to kill him," she said, voice taut.

Solas remained silent, because he didn't think outright saying 'better him than us' was going to win him any friends. 

"If you shoot, he might end up dead anyway," he pointed out. "Some of these people are mages. What's a mage's instinct after hearing gunfire?"

"Barrier. Barrier goes up," Pippa said.

Her rifle had been trained on the stranger standing behind the Tranquil, but not she took in the whole scene.

One with a firearm, attention on the Tranquil. One setting up some sort of ritual, taking things out of the cart and setting up around the Tranquil. One next to the skull device, sitting on a crate as he wrote something on a loose piece of paper.

"Right," Pippa hissed, now calm. "The moment everything goes up in flames, you put up your barrier and head straight for the Tranquil. Take him and their horse. Ride out and don't look back. I'll give them the runaround, and we can meet up at the old mine out in Ducette's Crevice. Got all that?"

"Yes. But what do you intend to--"

Before he could finish asking, Pippa's shot already went off.

When she said everything was going to go up in flames, it appeared she wasn't using poetic license. Three confused pairs of eyes turned to the horsecart, as a ball of fire burst up. Whatever it had once contained, it had been _extremely_ flammable.

There was a scramble, just as Pippa shot the one with the rifle. She used a lightning bolt charge, and when the shot hit him, he flailed in place as blood spurted from his wound, his rifle going off into the sky harmlessly. Then he fell back into the sand, a bloody heap next to the Tranquil, who had not moved an inch.

The remaining two strangers did not simply sit to be picked off as well.

The one with the map, obviously a mage, cast barrier over both himself and his companion, and then frost spells over the horsecart, trying to stop the fire from consuming everything. The fire did not go out easily; even this close to the oasis, the desert air was dry and unforgiving.

The other one made a lunge towards the crates next to the skull pole, digging for something. 

Solas did as Pippa demanded, and in the chaos, slipped out from the rocky outcrop and made a run for the Tranquil. He was not sure if he was spotted or not, but was assured he did not have the enemy's attention when he heard Pippa hoot and send off a few more shots. If there was one thing that could be said about Pippa Trevelyan, she had an impressive knack for drawing fire.

He did not waste time. He cut the Tranquil loose with a small, controlled fire spell burning through the rope.

"If you wish to escape, come with me," Solas told the Tranquil.

"Of course," came the reply, and they wasted no time making a run for the horse.

It was not panicked, at least--the animal had apparently been trained to remain calm when faced with both gunfire and magic. It was something to thank the strangers for, though perhaps it was not the type of gratitude they would be happy to receive from people who had now effectively stolen their horse.

Solas did not dwell on it. He pulled the Tranquil up in the saddle with him and, as Varric would say, got the hell out of dodge.

 

* * *

 

Ducette's Crevice was the site of the Envers Mining Company's early forays into the Western Approach, before far more promising veins were discovered. The mine hadn't even been depleted before all the miners were picked up one day and herded off to the newer site, and in the haste, most of their old lodgings and caches had also been left behind.

Pippa had discovered the place while leading a small, rag-tag group of magehouse escapees, and had kept them hidden there while she scouted out Haven and decided if it was safe for them.

Nowadays, she still kept the place stocked, in case of emergency. There were barrels of water there, and dry rations, a chest of clothing, and, hidden better than all the rest of the stuff, weapons, marked maps and a document forging kit.

It was the kind of location Pippa only entrusted to a few people, Solas among them, and at that moment, he couldn't be more thankful for it. Coaxing the horse inside was somewhat more difficult, but he didn't feel safe leaving the animal tied up outside, where it could be seen.

The Tranquil, at least, went without a fuss.

"I thank you for saving my life," he said in his perturbing monotone. "I am Clemence."

"It is my companion you should thank, in truth," Solas replied.

He drank water and shared some rations with Clemence as they waited for Pippa, and since this did not fill much time, Solas instead began taking inventory of the caches and noting what needed to be renewed.

She stormed in hours later, panting, her face streaked by sweat and dust, and she threw aside her rifle and hat. Solas passed her a ladle of water, which she poured directly over her head, and then he filled another ladle for her, which she poured down her throat.

"I attracted a bit of attention on my way out. I'm Pippa, by the way," she addressed the Tranquil, as she perched herself on top of a barrel.

"I am Clemence. Thank you for saving my life."

"Nasty spot we found you in. What was that ritual meant to accomplish?"

"I apologize, I will most likely not be useful to you," Clemence said. "I do not speak Tevene fluently. I could not understand most of what the Venatori spoke of."

"Venatori? That's what they're called?" Pippa asked.

"As I understand it, yes."

"Then you've been useful already, because that's more than we knew until a few moments ago." She smiled at him, that wide charming smile Pippa used for people she wanted to put at ease.

Solas wasn't certain how liable it was to work on someone with no emotions, but Clemence blinked once, before giving a nod.

"As you say," Clemence replied.

"Could you tell what they were looking for out there?" she asked.

"Not for certain. If you would allow conjecture, however..." At Pippa's nod, Clemence continued, "They were looking for a key. Or possibly multiple keys, or fragments. I am unclear on the specifics, but to accomplish this they needed to create things called oculara. The two men intent on sacrificing me were arguing that they did not have enough skulls to cover the entire area of the oasis. They were angry with their supplier, I believe."

Clemence discussed his own almost-murder with a disturbingly flat affect, but at least he provided some illuminating pieces of information.

"That was what we saw them building, then," Solas concluded. "That was an ocularum."

"And this key business?" Pippa asked, turning her attention to Solas. "Something to do with the temple?"

"Naturally, we must assume so. The only thing worth unlocking in this entire area is the temple."

"What's in there, that people would come all the way from Tevinter to crack it open?"

"In short, a demon."

Pippa gave him a flat look.

"Wonderful, so that problem solves itself then. They step in and get gobbled up by an angry demon."

"It is not so simple, I am afraid," Solas said. "The temple holds the demon, but it also provides the means by which to vanquish it."

Pippa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Of course it does. What's in there, some old elven super-weapon?"

"Nothing so straightforward. Merely... an old reservoir. A storage place for power. Even after the millennia which have passed, it is unlikely for it to be completely depleted. And, of course, the demon can be a prize unto itself, for people who practice certain schools of magic."

"They'll try binding it, you mean," Pippa said, weary.

"It does rather sound like the Tevinter style, does it not?" Solas asked.

Pippa shook her head--not in denial, but in frustration. He could understand it; Haven was the first place since escaping the magehouses that she'd stopped running. She had probably grown comfortable here. She could not be happy to see it threatened.

Solas could admit he'd... gotten used to the place somewhat, as well.

"We need to tell Cassandra about this," Pippa said. "Clemence, how would you like a ride into town?"

"I would find it more convenient than walking," Clemence replied.

Pippa hopped off the barrel, bumping her shoulder against Solas' as she brushed past him.

"You should try to be as zestful about life as Clemence, Solas," she said.

Solas sighed in response.

 

* * *

 

Because by the time Pippa arrived it was nighttime, they chose to spend the night at the mine and return to town in the morning. There were hard, narrow cots available, and they built a fire, but it was still cold and uncomfortable.

Solas had slept in worse conditions, but this time sleep eluded him. Perhaps it was the agitation of the day. Perhaps it was worry over the Venatori, and what they might do with the temple. He did not like the idea of them breaking into it, or at least not before he'd had the opportunity.

Something gnawed at him about the events of the day, like a faraway sound that was indistinct but still managed to pull him awake every time he was on the edge of sleep.

After a few hours of this tossing and turning on his part, Pippa rose from her cot. She took her blanket, and her strangely blanket-like garment, and still clumsy with sleep she shuffled towards Solas.

"Move over," she mumbled, sounding half-asleep still.

Solas did so.

The cot was narrow, enough so that they would only fit together if they both slept on their sides. Pippa arranged the blankets over them, making sure they were both covered, and settled herself in, her back against his chest.

It was not the first time. In the two years they'd been roommates in the same sad, pathetic attic lodgings, it had happened a few times that a bad turn of weather or a lack of money for firewood would have them sleep in the same bed for warmth, to make up for the heating spells which would gutter out during the night. This had never been a wholly unpleasant experience, not even the first awkward time they resorted to it.

But as Solas pulled Pippa in tighter, and snorted at the tickle of her hair against his nose, he realized he'd never noticed just how much of a comfort it was. Some combination of too many years spent by himself and Pippa's disarming manner made him enjoy her warmth for more than mere practical reasons.

Perhaps the reason he could not sleep was because for a few very long hours that day, he'd been afraid that she was dead, and never coming back.

It was a very concerning thought, that he'd become so attached to her over such a relatively short period of time--that he became attached to her _at all_. He was very concerned. He in fact worried over this fact for whole minutes, before falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

They left early in the morning, before the stifling heat truly set in. Clemence had to ride once again with Solas. Pippa's mount was a dracolisk, and they were notorious for their indiscriminate hostility. That the creature accepted Pippa as a rider alone qualified as a miracle, and none of them wished to tempt fate.

Pippa asked Clemence about his past as they rode, and thus discovered that he'd been snatched up by the Venatori right off the streets in some Orlesian city, and dragged all the way out to this desert, for reasons beyond him. They also discovered that he'd been tied up because of a prior escape attempt, and Solas could not hide his surprise that a Tranquil would attempt an escape at all.

"Self-preservation is in my best interest," Clemence had replied. "I attempted it once I began to suspect their intentions."

Obviously he had not succeeded, hence his presence here.

"Don't worry, Clemence, we'll set you up," Pippa assured cheerily.

By that, apparently, she meant she'd foist him on Fiona the moment they returned to town.  Fiona took the entire thing in stride, however, and promised to find Clemence shelter and some work.

With that done, they stopped by Master Dennet's stables, where they left the stolen horse, with a story about how they found it wandering the desert.

After that, the only thing left was a visit to the sheriff's office.

They strolled in to discover Cassandra was not there. No, instead, at Cassandra's desk, absorbed in the sheriff's handbook, _was the Templar_.

Pippa stiffened the moment she passed through the door, and stopped in her tracks. Solas, trailing behind her, stopped as well when he noticed her posture. He guessed right away why she would react that way to the sight of the man at the desk, and pressed a hand against her back for support.

She relaxed only marginally at the contact. At least, she attempted to act nonchalant as she strode towards the desk.

"Didn't realize the Company was branching out," Pippa remarked, and though she sounded friendly enough, to anyone who knew her, the nervous edge was obvious.

The Templar looked up at them, almost confused.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

It was now that Pippa's eyes fell to the star pinned to his vest. The one very clearly saying 'Deputy'. She frowned at it.

"Where's Cassandra?" Pippa asked.

"As I recall, I asked you the exact same question yesterday," he replied a bit peevishly. "You were not very forthcoming on the subject."

"Well, yes, but I'm not a public servant," she said. "I'm the public."

He gave her an utterly unamused look before he finally answered.

"She isn't here at the moment. But whatever you need from her, I can help as well."

Pippa raised an eyebrow.

"Alright," she said. "There's some manner of rough folk in the Forbidden Oasis, and they're looking to break into an ancient elven temple."

The newly minted deputy responded with a look of blank incomprehension.

"What?"

"Yes, already you're being extremely helpful," Pippa snorted.

"Perhaps we should leave and return later," Solas suggested.

Fortunately, Cassandra walked through the door at that moment.

"What is going on?" Cassandra asked.

"These magehouse runaways stormed in here saying something about a temple," the deputy answered.

Pippa threw him a withering glare before she turned towards Cassandra, but did not tell him off.

"There's Tevinters up at the oasis," Pippa said. "Something bad is happening."

Cassandra's expression turned grave, and she nodded.

"Thank you, Cullen, I will handle this," she said. 

Pippa had perhaps been hoping Cullen would leave then, but he remained as she and Solas told Cassandra about everything going on in the oasis, including and up to Clemence. Looting an old elven temple might not have been strictly illegal, but blood sacrifice was most certainly something Cassandra would like to nip in the bud.

Pippa neglected to mention the horse theft they engaged in, though. It seemed like the kind of thing one did not mention to a sheriff.

"What you are telling me is most disturbing," Cassandra said, once she got the whole story. "These... Venatori sound like more trouble than Haven needs. I will gather a posse, and we will rout them. Cullen, prepare our horses, please."

Cullen nodded and went ahead.

With him gone, Pippa leveled a look at Cassandra.

"You told him we were mages?" Pippa asked. "A Templar, Cassandra? Really?"

Cassandra sighed.

"He is my deputy, he should know," she said. "Besides, he is a _former_ Templar. He has left the Company."

"Leaving the Company doesn't make a Templar less dangerous," Pippa muttered. "More so, if anything."

"I trust Cullen," Cassandra said with finality. But she softened the slightest bit. "And... I require help. You may have noticed as well, there have been strange people passing through Haven. More dangerous than usual. And now these Venatori? All the way from Tevinter? No, something is going on, and I need people I can rely on. So, unless you wish to be deputized as well?"

For once, Pippa did not have a smart reply straight away. The pause that followed Cassandra's question was long, enough that the sheriff raised an eyebrow. 

Solas realized Pippa was actually _considering_ it now, where before she would have dismissed the notion out of hand.

"No," she answered in the end.

"Very well," Cassandra said. "But you may still join the posse when we go after these Venatori."

"Thank you, sheriff," Solas interjected. "We are gratified to see you taking the matter so seriously."

He then ushered Pippa out the door before she could add anything.

Outside, Cullen was handling the horses--his and Cassandra's--probably getting ready for the day's patrol, and the added call to arms they were going to be delivering while out about town. He nodded to Pippa in passing, a bit coolly, but probably intending it as a gesture of peace, and Pippa returned the gesture.

She remained sullenly silent for a while, however, and after they were far enough away from Cullen's earshot, she turned to Solas.

"Maybe I _should_ be a deputy," she said without preamble.

"Is that what you truly wish, or is this because of the Templar?" Solas asked.

"I don't know." An unusually straightforward admission on her part.

Solas supposed he could see her changing her mind. In the two years since arriving in Haven, both he and Pippa had survived on odd jobs for the town's residents. The fact that they shared an attic bedroom upstairs from the saloon was a testament to how precarious that was as a source of income.

Becoming a deputy at least would have provided a stable source of income: a small stipend, if Solas wasn't mistaken, and a weekly allowance of groceries. Just on its own, the offer was tempting.

But the timing did not sit right with Solas, exactly. Pippa had just narrowly escaped the oasis the other day, and he wouldn't have liked to see her jump right back in again. Cassandra could handle this for now. It was her duty.

"I think you should give the issue more time and consideration, if you are to change your mind," he said.

"Slow and steady," she muttered. "Doesn't really work when things are moving fast, though."

"No, it does not."

She sighed an rubbed a hand down her face, slowly. Then she stopped and stared at her palm with revulsion. Though she'd washed herself at the mine, she'd acquired another fine sheen of dust on the ride over.

"I need a bath," she said.

"And I need to speak to Dorian. Perhaps you can meet us at his shop later?"

"Sure," she said, and gave Solas's arm a squeeze before they parted.

 

* * *

 

In matters of magic, Dorian was perhaps the second-best person in town to consult with. The same also in the case of Tevinter magic--considering how derivative is was of old Elvhen techniques. Not that Solas would tell Dorian so to his face.

Certainly not now, when Solas was looking to learn more about the Venatori.

Though that day, Dorian was not the usual font of wisdom he styled himself as.

"There's always some shadowy cabal or another looking to revive the glory of the Imperium," he'd said dismissively, "usually by looting elven tombs. They won't bother us in town, and I'm certain they'll be on their way once they get what they're here for."

"It is the part where they find what they're looking for that should concern us," Solas pointed out.

Dorian's jaw clenched peculiarly.

"From what you say, it sounds as if the sheriff has things well in hand." He sounded dismissive enough, but Solas could tell he was hiding something.

"You should hope so. If she decides she requires more information on the subject of these Venatori, it will be you she comes to for answers. You had best have enough of them ready to satisfy her, unless you wish to share a podium with them for the noon performance."

The threat of the gallows seemed to sober Dorian up quite a bit. Solas could see wheels turning in his head.

"You mentioned something about oculara," Dorian said, putting his book down to survey the stack.

"Indeed."

And it was the oculara that they were researching when Pippa came in later, looking cleaner, calmer, and more put together after the events of that morning.

"There you are!" Dorian said, as she came in. "Your scary Templar didn't get you?"

Solas bit back a sigh. He did not want to see Dorian prodding at Pippa over that particular issue.

But Pippa did not seem overly bothered by it at the moment.

"Of course not! It is rather my overriding characteristic that they don't, isn't it?" she said.

"True," Dorian laughed.

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Your friends in the oasis. You don't owe anyone money or something, do you, Dorian?"

"Oh. Them." Dorian's expression soured. "No, they're just run of the mill magister supremacists."

Pippa quirked an eyebrow. 

"The fact that you can consider magister supremacists run of the mill is quite alarming," she said.

"One of the many reasons I find this quaint little backwater a more appealing place than my homeland."

"Dorian, you complain _relentlessly_ about Haven."

"I do! So you can see how bad Tevinter can be, then." He sighed. "I am being unfair. Tevinter is a wonderful place, it's people like the Venatori who make it unpleasant. I hope Cassandra rids us of them before they start bringing down the property values around here too."

"I don't think property values are a pressing concern for anyone living around Haven."

Dorian laughed.

"Well said."

Pippa strolled over, scanning the books laid out over the table, and the cursory notes they'd made. 

"Researching something?" she asked.

"The oculara," Solas replied. "I have shared my suspicions about their purpose with Dorian, and he has been gracious enough to help me gather more information on the subject."

"Attempt to gather more information, more like," Dorian muttered. "And badly, at that. I'll need to contact my sources all the way in Val Royeaux to get _anything_ consistent."

"Seems like jumping the gun a bit, though," Pippa said. "Can't you just study the things after Cassandra makes the oasis safe again?"

Dorian looked mildly revolted.

"You mean, go out there?" he said. "In the desert? With the wild animals?"

"Oh, come on, if Solas survived there alone for days at a time, I'm sure you won't be any worse for wear."

"Yes, but I am much more appetizing than Solas. He can poke at those things all he wants, I'll be fine waiting right here, thank you. Away from the hungry hyenas."

Pippa laughed and hooked her arm around Solas's.

"I suppose it's just you and me, then!" she said.

"Oh? I did not realize you had an interest in research," Solas replied. 

"Well, as long as you'll be there, it can't be that bad."

Solas found himself at a momentary loss of words, unsure how to either take Pippa's remark or reply to it.

Dorian had no such problem. Looking supremely unimpressed, he snorted and waved them off.

"Out," he said. "I have work to do, and if you'll be acting like that you can do it elsewhere."

Pippa stuck her tongue out at him, but apparently interpreting Dorian's words to apply to both of them, pulled Solas along.

"Fine, we're going. It's lunch time, anyway."

 

* * *

 

Since arriving in Haven, Pippa had become something of a fixture at Cabot's saloon. Since the establishment offered a free lunch with any purchase of a drink, she found it quite the bargain. And, as she confessed to Solas, the cheap ale she always ordered--in fact, the cheapest drink available--had grown on her, even if she hardly ever finished it.

Solas ate sparingly, but he decided to join her, since she was insistent on the matter.

"There's a card game later on," Pippa told him as she dug into the overfried hunk of meat on her place. "Varric is hosting. Interested?"

"I am not much of a gambler anymore," Solas said.

"That's not what Blackwall told me," she replied, grinning at him conspiratorially. 

Solas cleared his throat.

"Yes, well. It was a one time exception, I did not plan on making it a habit."

Pippa chuckled, but did not argue.

"Alright, how about you stick around for luck, then?" she asked.

"For luck?"

"Yes! Or moral support, whichever. I do fancy having someone around to admire the way I bluff."

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but is hanging on a player's arm not usually the purview of paramours and dancing girls?"

"Not just the arm," Pippa said seriously, "the lap too, sometimes."

"Ah, yes, forgive me. That is, indeed, quite a range," Solas said flatly.

"I didn't even suggest it like that, you're the one who immediately cast yourself into the mental image of a dancing girl," Pippa said, grinning with all her teeth the way she did when she was quietly laughing at someone.

Solas was momentarily flustered, but sighed and shook his head in exasperation.

"If your wish was to confuse and bewilder me into keeping you company, then you've succeeded," he said.

Pippa prodded him with a foot under the table.

"Knew you couldn't resist my charms," she said.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, despite Pippa going through the effort of wheedling Solas into joining her, there was no card game that evening. Varric had rather inconveniently joined Cassandra's posse, along with most of the other players who were meant to be there.

They sat in the saloon anyway. They would have headed home, if not for the fact that Pippa was anxious, and wanted to be there when the posse returned.

"Whatever happens, happens regardless of our presence here," Solas pointed out reasonably.

But Pippa's jaw was set, and Solas could tell that she knew but did not care.

"Hurtling into danger, away and out of sight," Cole intoned, " _should have gone with them, should be making a difference. Safer with me there_. But that's not true." He addressed Pippa directly with those last words.

Pippa downed her drink and grimaced.

"Thank you, Cole," she said, her voice hoarse from alcohol. "An indispensable contribution to the conversation, yet again."

"He is right," Solas said. "Cassandra is capable, and she has three dozen volunteers at her back. You could hardly make more of a difference."

Pippa leveled a glare at him.

"She doesn't agree," Cole imparted in a low voice.

"What a curious young man," someone remarked, and both Pippa and Solas turned to see a man strutting over.

He wore a fine black suit, but he was also a mess of buckles and belts, and he clinked as he walked.

"I don't like him," Cole said, and in a snap of the Veil, he disappeared.

The man remained stunned in place, blinking in the confused way people often did when Cole slipped through the cracks of their memories. Then his eyes fell upon Pippa, and he seemed to recall his purpose.

"Ah, you must be the notorious Miss Trevelyan," he said, oozing his way into one of the chairs at the table, without asking permission. "You have quite the reputation around Haven."

"I'll pass that tidbit on to my biographer," Pippa replied stiffly.

The man chuckled insincerely.

"You do have your finger in a lot of pies, I believe the quaint southern colloquialism goes."

"I wouldn't know. I'm a Free Marcher, and I'm pretty far west at the moment." 

By Pippa's brusque tone, it was clear she did not like the man any more than Cole did. Not that he seemed to pick up on that. There was something oily about him.

"Indeed, indeed," the man said, taking the remark in stride. He waved over a waitress and ordered a glass of whiskey, apparently fully intending to become a fixture at the table.

Pippa's pressed together tighter.

"Is there something you're looking for?" she asked.

"Actually," the man said, "that is the question I'd like to ask you, Miss Trevelyan."

"How so?"

"A woman in your situation, you must be on the lookout for any opportunity which might come your way."

"Oh?"

"Just as I'm on the lookout for any talent which might come my way. I believe our goals might be made to be compatible."

Pippa stared at the man incredulously.

"What could possibly give you this impression?"

His drink arrived, and he made a great show of sipping it before gesturing at Pippa.

"Everything, really," he said. "You led a band of runaway mages to this town, and you've been living as a furtrapper and a dayworker ever since, despite your magical inclinations. What a complete waste! Surely even you must realize there is more for you out there."

"Whether there is or not, I'm still unclear on what makes you think I'm capable of being more than a furtrapper and a dayworker."

He chuckled.

"Let us say you've made me take notice," he said in a low voice, and removed a calling card from his pocket. He placed it on the table and slid it over to Pippa. "If you wish to leave this dusty boondocks behind, please do contact me. I have a room at this very establishment."

With that, he finally departed, drink and all.

"That was odd," Solas said. "What does the card say?"

Pippa, who'd been watching the man's departure with suspicion, finally picked up the square of paper and read it.

"It says Crassius Servis."

Solas looked immediately alarmed, though it took him a few seconds to recall why the name was familiar.

"You know him?" Pippa asked, concerned by this reaction.

"Let us say I have heard the name," Solas replied darkly.


	2. Propagandists AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets slightly NSFW in the second half.

The small office Solas was pointed to was barely larger than a broom closet, and at that moment was accommodating a desk, two chairs on opposite sides of it, a radio on a shelf, and a human woman with her feet propped on the desk top.

The woman stopped chewing on her pen for just long enough to look at him.

"You must be Miss Trevelyan," he said. "I was told you are the Inquisition's publicist."

Apprehension immediately passed over her face.

"Are you with the Chantry?" she blurted out.

After a moment's incredulity, he chuckled.

"Was that a serious question?"

She relaxed slightly at his reply, removing her feet from the desk and planting them on the floor.

"Sorry, we've been getting some... pushback from the Chantry," she muttered.

"You mean harassment," Solas said.

"I mean whatever you call it when you need to dodge rotten vegetables every time you step out of the building," she said, raking a hand through her hair in exasperation. "But yes, I'm Trevelyan."

"And I am Solas. I will be working with you."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow, as if not quite believing it to be so.

"Really," he assured.

She stared at him for a few moments more before huffing humorlessly and extending a hand.

"Welcome aboard, then, I guess. For whatever that's worth," she said.

He took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Thank you. I hope this will be a productive partnership."

"And I hope you hold on to that optimism for as long as possible," she replied.

 

* * *

 

"The problem," Trevelyan explained, "is the not the Inquisition." She punctuated the statement by stabbing her fork in the air, before turning it back to her container of food and twirling it in the noodles.

Solas spared a glance for her feet, taking up a valuable corner of the desk that he could have used to spread out his newspapers a bit more. 

"All these headlines would beg to differ," Solas replied. "'Inquisition Goes Too Far?', 'Pentaghast's New Inquisition Power-Mad', 'Inquisition Upstarts Upset Cleric Council'--ah, that last one is by Tethras. I _thought_ I recognized that flair for alliteration."

"Uh-huh," Trevelyan said around a mouth of food. "Now how many of those articles fail to mention the Chantry?"

Solas scanned each one in turn.

"Ah. I see," he said. "The Chantry. The people see it not as a corrupt institution coming under scrutiny for its abuses, but as a hallowed body under attack from wicked detractors."

"Mm-hmm."

"We therefore must change the public's view of the Chantry."

Trevelyan seemed to choke, but after a few moments Solas realized she was merely laughing.

"I can tell you're not Andrastian, because you actually think we'd be able to swing that. Oh, don't get me wrong, if we had a few decades and an unlimited budget, we'd be getting right to it," Trevelyan replied. "But we don't."

Solas frowned.

"So what are we going to do?"

"Change the public's view about the Inquisition."

"You just said the Inquisition is not the problem."

"Yes. Exactly. Now the public needs to see this as well."

Solas sighed heavily and sat down.

"An admirable plan, but negativity has the tendency of spreading much more easily than positivity. To steal your phrasing, if we had a few decades and an unlimited budget..."

"Don't worry, Solas," she said, patting his hand with her greasy fingers. "I promise we'll find someone to smear."

Solas scrunched his nose at the smears Trevelyan herself had left on the back of his hand.

"I have no doubt," he muttered, but he was very slightly intrigued.

 

* * *

 

"Oh yes, he'll do quite well," Trevelyan had said one day, after listening to a radio report.

Solas had not been listening, absorbed as he'd been in penning a statement for the press, but there was something about the glint in her eye that drew his attention. Perhaps today, she would do more than prop her feet on the desk and regard the ceiling. Perhaps, he thought optimistically.

What Trevelyan did, in fact, was put on her coat and leave.

"I'll be right back," she promised, and disappeared, leaving Solas to finish the statement.

He grew quite annoyed with her--he understood that being the new hire, he was far lower in the pecking order, but the woman's laziness was starting to appall him--but continued to work.

She returned hours later, face flushed from the cold and some strange excitement, and she dropped an armful of documents on the desk, on top of the writing Solas had been doing. He shouted and jumped out of his chair just as a stack of papers was about to fall into his lap.

"It seems we've hit jackpot," Trevelyan crooned, exceedingly pleased. "Time to shape up. Our work is finally beginning."

Solas looked upon the mess on the desk.

"I was under the impression the workday started daily at eight," he said peevishly.

"Well, that's just lazy," she replied. "The _real_ work doesn't happen on a convenient schedule."

He picked up the nearest file, stuffed haphazardly with photographs--and then his eyebrows rose.

That was more certainly the Honored Judge Sethius Corypheus in the photos, and the people in his company were most definitely not the kind of crowd he should be associating with outside a courtroom.

"Where did you get all this?" Solas asked, his voice faint.

"Here and there," Trevelyan replied, as she began sorting through the mess. "Some newspaper buddies who had their stories killed, some city clerks with bad habits I happen to know about, a remarkably spit-and-polish young Tevinter exchange student. For a man with so many acquaintances, Corypheus really, really, doesn't have friends in this town. There's more than enough here for us to work with."

"Apparently so," Solas agreed. "I will begin with the photographs, in that case."

"Good idea. Sort them and identify everyone in the pictures. I'm going to pick through these receipts, there's bound to be something we can use in here."

Solas hummed in agreement and sat down.

He sorted through the photographs, certainly. And if, by the time he was through, two of the photographs had been slipped into his coat pocket, that had no bearing on Trevelyan's work. There was no need for her or anyone else to know Corypheus had ever come into contact with certain Elvhen elements, and after he burned the photographs to fine ashes, nobody would find out about it that way.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra looked from Trevelyan to Solas with an arched eyebrow.

"Corypheus," she said flatly. "That is what you wished to bring to my attention. Does that not seem like a step down from tackling corruption within the Chantry?"

"If the Inquisition was actually _doing_ anything about corruption in the Chantry, then sure!" Trevelyan replied. "As it is, the only thing you've accomplished is to huff and puff and go blue in the face. At this point, Lady Pentaghast, you need to accomplish _something_ , even if it's not what you'd like. This is achievable and will buy you a bit of the goodwill you need to take on the Chantry later on."

Cassandra shook her head, then sighed. She had flipped through the file, and the sorted evidence of Corypheus's misconduct. It was more than enough to launch an official investigation. It was, quite frankly, enough investigation on its own, by this town's standards. They'd all but done the work for her, and it rankled.

"You are propagandists," she said, "I am not completely sure you have any say in how the Inquisition conducts itself."

"If we're mere propagandists, then why did Justinia even hire me?" Trevelyan retorted. "Why did she even bother to assign me personally to your organization?"

"I... do not know," Cassandra said.

She placed the file Trevelyan and Solas had put together for her on the table, and picked up the other item, a brief report laying out the proposed strategy for dealing with the public. What they would tell the press, what message they would convey, how Cassandra should conduct herself to reflect positively on the Inquisition. It was all politics and pretense, things that Cassandra despised, but it was to a good end, and that stopped her from dismissing this out of hand.

"I suppose there must be a reason," she conceded. "And this does not look like an unworthy cause. Corypheus has had the run of the town for far too long, in many people's opinions." She nodded gravely. "Very well. I will see to it, nd do as you request."

 

* * *

 

It seemed the one thing the Andrastian public hated more than the Inquisition was, in fact, heretics of a different stripe.

Solas and Trevelyan were having an early breakfast at a diner across the road from the Inquisition headquarters when news came in over the radio. Sometime during the night, Corypheus had been arrested following evidence of foul conduct brought to light by the Inquisition's investigation into his affairs.

The diner cook whistled at the impressive list of charges, including not only corruption, fraud, embezzlement and blackmail, but several sensational charges of kidnapping and murder that Solas and Trevelyan had not even known about to include in their file.

"Cassandra did a better job than even we could have anticipated," Trevelyan pointed out, as she tucked into her greasy breakfast.

Solas blinked blearily. They'd in fact been up all night, doing their very best to ensure every morning edition in Southern Thedas would be headlining the news of Corypheus's arrest and the important part the Inquisition had played in it. Cassandra's job had been rather straightforward and well-defined by comparison. Theirs had been slippery, difficult, and littered with obstacles at every step.

"Yes," he said dryly, "I do not know where we would be without her, though I suspect in bed, just waking from a good night's sleep."

Trevelyan grinned at him.

He took a sip of coffee and nearly gagged.

"Something wrong with your coffee?" she asked.

"It is coffee. I despise the stuff."

"Then why are you drinking it?"

"Because you have kept me awake the entire night, and now we must go into work and field yet more questions from reporters."

Trevelyan gave a low, rich chuckle in response.

"If you'd like, we can move to a larger office with a couch," she said. "After last night, we might even have earned a second desk."

"Ah, the rewards of a job well done," Solas said caustically. He grimaced in anticipation as he raised the cup again.

Trevelyan reached out and covered the mouth of the cup before Solas could drink from it again. She pressed down, making him put it back on the table.

"You did good work tonight," Trevelyan said. "Why don't you go home and rest, and I'll handle things for today? I'm completely wired, I don't need sleep anyway."

A tempting offer, but one he could not accept. He shook his head.

"Thank you, but no. I would only spend the next day playing catch-up, anyway. I would rather be here with you."

Trevelyan sighed.

"My unrestrained charm and charisma hooks in another one," she said, shaking her head. "I should have known it's to late for you to get away."

"Please stop," Solas deadpanned, and shook off her hand so he could drink his coffee.

The face he made had Trevelyan laughing.

 

* * *

 

They did not get a couch or a second desk, but now their tiny office sported a typewriter, and a file cabinet whose two bottom drawers could only be opened if Trevelyan scooted her chair out of the way. This pleased Trevelyan greatly. She cracked her knuckles, an anticipatory grin stretching across her face, and before long the click-clack of her typing filled the room.

Solas thought the sound would begin to annoy him rapidly, but to his surprise, he became accustomed to it right away. It seemed to fit Trevelyan, somehow; the metallic tapping of her productivity, like the whir of her mind, constantly working in the background. He preferred pen and paper, and anything he wrote she was always happy to transcribe anyway, so it worked out.

More frequently, he found himself looking up only when the sound stopped, and searching the look on her face for some clue of what she would say next. Lately, when she met his eyes, she would always give him a brief smile before she launched into explaining her latest flash of brilliance.

 

* * *

 

The Inquisition's lot in the world had changed quite a bit--been changed, rather.

Following Corypheus, there was a string of other successes, notably against Tevinter criminals. A bootlegger named Servis and a ruthless mage mob head, Calpernia, had also been treated to the Inquisition's attention, but now the organization's attention was being shifted closer to home, to the former Templars that the Chantry had abandoned to their lyrium addiction.

"We need a poster boy," Trevelyan had declared, and had zeroed in on one Cullen Rutherford. "He's handsome and he has cute nephews," had been her justification.

"His service record has some inconvenient dark spots, however," Solas had pointed out.

This was met with a shrug on Trevelyan's part.

"He's an addict," she said. "And since the Chantry is responsible for that, we can make them seem responsible for a great many other things."

"As a mage, you don't find any of this perturbing?" Solas persisted. "His abuses--"

"--Will play well with the public, since they already hate mages."

"And you do not consider that by pandering to their bigotry, we are only reinforcing it? By casting an abuser of mages as a hero, you do not think we are only contributing to the persecution of our kind?"

Trevelyan stared at Solas for a long time before replying.

"I do. But I know the source of that persecution is the Chantry, and I'm keeping the long game in mind. I understand if that sounds cold to you."

"Sometimes to achieve the world one desires, one must take regrettable measures. I understand."

Trevelyan nodded in response, and did not say anything more, but she ripped out the page from the typewriter, and set in a new one.

"You know what, let's go for a different world," she said, so low it must have been to herself. But Solas looked up and saw her regard the typewriter solemnly, before cracking her knuckles and beginning to write anew.

 

* * *

 

They stumbled through knee-high snow as they walked the streets, every sound muffled under the veilfire lampposts. Snow had fallen just that day, and had only been cleaned in random patches. There were narrow strips of stepped-down snow, but they zigzagged around large white mounds where the snow had been pushed off stairs and roofs.

"Do you think we are making the world a better place?" Solas asked his companion.

"We the Inquisition, or we the soulless propagandists manipulating the masses?" Trevelyan asked, clutching onto his arm so she could toe her way over a particularly large mound of snow.

She had glommed onto that phrase that Cassandra had used--'propagandists'--and declared it a much more honest fit than their real titles of 'publicists'. Solas could not tell if it was an affectation on her part or truly honesty, but he did not see the point of arguing terms; one was as good as another.

"The latter," he said, trying not to smile.

"Well," Trevelyan began, teetering on her tiptoes as her ankles sank into snow, "one of my old mentors would say, it doesn't matter, as long as we make people _believe_ the world is a better place, because they wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"And do you believe that?" Solas asked, gripping her by the waist when it looked like she was about to slip on a patch of icy snow. Her hands scrambled to grip his coat as she regained her footing.

"No," she said. "I don't want to believe that, if only for selfish reasons. I don't want to believe I'm trapped in a cage of illusions or that nothing objectively matters. Things _should_ matter. Things _do_."

Solas nodded, maintaining his hand around her waist as they walked.

"I hope so," he said softly.

They arrived at her apartment building, and Trevelyan practically jumped on the first step, happy to have escaped the obstacle course for now. But she turned back to Solas, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling as she grinned widely.

"I'd invite you up for coffee, but I think that would have the opposite intended effect," she said. "Also I don't even have any coffee."

Solas laughed.

"That's reassuring, then," he said.

"So I'm going to invite you to breakfast, instead," she said.

"It's nearly midnight."

"Yes, it is," she agreed lightly, and her hand brushed over the lapel of his coat. "But it might be morning by the time you leave."

He remained dumbstruck, sure he was misunderstanding, but there was no other way he could think to interpret that cat-ate-the-canary look on Trevelyan's face, and he felt a rush of heat creeping up his neck and over his face.

He hadn't-- He wasn't--

He had been spending too much time with her, he thought numbly. That was the only explanation. She had abated his loneliness so well that she had managed to get under his skin in the process. Because next thing he knew, he opened his mouth and said, "Yes."

He saw her immediate response, the predatory sharpness to her smile, and she grabbed his lapel more firmly, and tugged him up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

It was a strange night, spent in her embrace. He recalled with vividness the drag of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the texture of her palms against the most sensitive parts of his skin. They did little more than learn each other with hands and lips, but as she promised, it was morning by the time they stopped.

He remembered eating breakfast through a warm haze. He remembered she was smiling the entire time, and she kept brushing her fingers against the back of his hand until he caught them and kissed their tips.

For years he would wake up in the morning thinking that night and the breakfast afterwards had been a pleasant dream.

 

* * *

 

She was throwing him sly, half-lidded glances over the top of her newspaper, and Solas would not have been bothered if they were not also coupled with a certain kind of smile, feline and satisfied in some way.

"Something pleases you this morning?" he asked in a husky undertone.

"Oh, yes," she replied in a languorous purr. "Very much so."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. This was so wrong, so unprofessional, but how could he spend this much time in a room with her and not notice her, not have his body notice her, even if the room in question was their shared office?

"Care to share the secret?" he said, matching her tone.

She snapped the newspaper, and he thought she was about to fold it and put it aside. He'd in fact been leaning forward, prepared for her to reach over the desk for her. But after folding the newspaper, instead of putting it aside, she merely turned it around and extended it towards him.

"The Veil has a very nice cartoon today," she said.

Solas had a few moments of incomprehension before he managed to successfully change gears and look down at the paper before him. When he did, he frowned.

"Is that supposed to be Cassandra?" he asked.

"A terrible likeness, I know," she said. "I don't know who their artist on staff is anymore, but yikes. The quality of the art isn't the issue, however. Notice that Cassandra here is using her jousting pole to skewer that giant nug helpfully labeled corruption?"

"I believe she is holding a sword, and that is a dragon, not a giant nug."

Trevelyan glanced at the cartoon again.

"Well, I suppose you must be right, since nugs don't usually have wings. Still, the intent is what matters here. The Veil has taken a shine to the Inquisition, would you not say so?"

Solas looked up at her neutrally.

"I would say their poorly drawn cartoon displays a generally positive outlook on the Inquisition's activities, yes," he said. "You find this significant?"

"The Veil is seen as the voice of politically active youth and marginalized individuals," Trevelyan pointed out. "Significant voting blocs when they can be persuaded to vote the same way, yes?"

"Yes, and?"

"And we have an election year coming up. Diligent little politicians, desperate to know _what_ the masses are having opinions about these days."

"Ah."

"Yes. 'Ah' is exactly right."

"This might be a good time to mention I have some acquaintances who work for The Veil," Solas said.

"Oh?" There was a speculative gleam in her eyes now. "Writerly type acquaintances, mayhaps?"

"They dabble," he said lightly.

Trevelyan smoothed down the newspaper. Then she leaned forward on her elbows and merely smiled at Solas. It was enough.

And it was a good thing their office door had a lock.

 

* * *

 

The tapping of her typewriter slowed, and Solas glanced up. She was frowning at the paper thoughtfully, so he returned his attention to his own work.

"Solas, could you come over here?" she requested, still frowning at the paper.

He rose and went around the desk, stepping behind her chair. He leaned down to look over her shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked, scanning the paper in the typewriter to see what had tripped her up.

When he turned to look at her, she pressed her mouth against his, and hungrily drew him into a kiss. His hand went to cup the back of her head, fingers sinking into her hair as his surprise was burned off into pleasure.

He drew back and looked into her eyes.

"Was there anything else?" he asked.

"No," Trevelyan replied, with an impish grin. "I just wanted to kiss you and didn't want to get up myself to do it."

He huffed a dry laugh, giving a small shake of his head in exasperation, and then kissed her again.

 

* * *

 

His touch skimmed across her ribs, and settled on her hip. He couldn't remember what had started it this time, what maddening quirk had stoked his hunger today. She gave a nipping little kiss, and her warm chuckle settled inside him.

With the hand on her hip, he turned her around, until her back was pressed against his chest.

"Really?" she asked flatly, but she couldn't hide her anticipation from him.

"Really," he breathed against her ear before settling his mouth against her neck and sucking. Her back arched, and she rumbled a moan. His fingers teased along the band of her trousers, slipping under the hem of her shirt to find skin. When he popped open the top button of her trousers, she gasped, and he kneaded the flesh of her abdomen slowly; a taste of what he would do to her later, when his hand would drift lower.

It was rare that they took their time at work, but today there would only be a lot of waiting to get out of the way. They had time.

He thought by the time he bent her over the desk, she'd have no concern but him, but she tugged on his sleeve.

"Solas. Could you... turn that up?" she asked, pointing to the radio on the shelf above.

He paused in his rather compromising situation--cock out and ready to drive home was not the best moment to find out one's sexual partner was equally invested in the news report as in the main event. His male ego felt quite bruised at the moment.

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

"I can pay attention to two things at once, don't worry," she said.

He considered this for a moment, and reached up to turn the radio's volume higher.

But once this was done, he leaned down and growled against the back of her neck, "I would bet you can't."

She shuddered, and her breathing hitched, but she had no time to say anything before he sank into her.

Later, as she lay sprawled over the desk panting heavily, she drew her wrist over her forehead to wipe the sweat.

"Shit," she muttered, "I didn't catch any of the report. Were we on the news today?" 

Solas, still flush with the afterglow of orgasm, had no idea, but he gave a satisfied smile.

 

* * *

 

The months seemed to go past in a blink, and it was summer again. Every turn of the calendar's page began filling Solas with dread, as it brought him closer to the day he would have to leave the Inquisition, and leave _her_.

When? he wondered. How much time did he have like this? He lied in her bed in the mornings and watched her sit before her vanity, applying makeup with a deft hand, and tried to keep his breath even and his heart from beating out of his chest at the thought that one day this would all stop.

He rose from the bed and walked behind her, settling hands on her bare shoulders. The skin was soft and warm, and it helped him settle in this moment. It kept thoughts of the future at bay like the campfire's flames kept wild beasts to the darkness.

She looked up, from eyes now delineated in black, gold and brilliant green, and she smiled at him. Such a simple thing, to twist him inside so much.

He removed the band holding her hair back from her face and took her hairbrush from the vanity.

"I have something to tell you," he said, looking into the tousled locks so he would not meet her eyes in the mirror. Carefully holding sections of her hair so they wouldn't tug, he began brushing.

"What is it, Solas?" she asked softly.

There was, for once, no lilting humor in her voice, no flirtation. Only quiet encouragement, and it actually made him look up, catch her eyes. It was a mistake. Before her gentle gaze, full of understanding, his courage left him.

"You are beautiful," he said, voice hoarse with feeling.

She remained still for far too long, watching him. He could not interpret her expression, or know what thoughts were flickering behind her gaze, and that terrified him. He could tell, by the length of her pause, that she knew he meant to say anything else. He nearly broke into apologies.

And then, with a smile, she released him.

"You're biased," she replied, making a joke of it.

He laughed. He thought it was in relief, but it was not; relief would have been to have the truth come out. Instead, he packed up the feelings he could not stand, and rolled them up tightly inside to deal with on another day.

He brushed her hair, and she made pleased sounds at his fingers massaging her scalp.

It was enough.


End file.
